


as we sink into the open sea

by neondvcks



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Reveal, alien reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 14:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17920163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neondvcks/pseuds/neondvcks
Summary: A ringing silence—  then an uproar of screams and cries and people; there is running and chaos and lights and Alex is still staring at Michael and Michael is still staring back.





	as we sink into the open sea

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a character study in my mind and then it turned into something else entirely and now I'm not even sure what to call it. They just make me feel an awful lot I guess.  
> Full disclosure: I haven't written any type of fanfiction in years and no one has looked this over except myself (and English isn't my first language) so please excuse any mistakes and the clunkiness. This is pure self-indulgence.

Maybe this is how they’ll die: Alex standing on one side, Michael on the other and everything else between them.

  
They have done this dance so many times, pushing and pulling, around and around and around. It’s always too much, never quite enough.

  
It doesn’t matter that Alex’ face is hidden in the shadows of the dark parking lot; Michael knows the look in his eyes, will see it again when he finally falls asleep tonight. He recognizes the guarded tone in the other man’s voice, knows what comes next. The steps are familiar, the music unchanged.

  
In the end it hurts just the same when Alex turns away.

  
_Stay, stay, stay_ his heart sobs.

  
“Oh yeah, run away!” is what comes out of his mouth, angry and bitter. “It’s what you do best.”

  
Something ugly in him roars in protest, rises like bile in his throat, builds up underneath his skin. He’ll shatter a window, drink acetone until he passes out, maybe blow up a thing or two. It’ll die down eventually, this alien part of him that responds so violently to his most human emotions, it’ll die down long enough for him to get a grip on it.

  
Alex pauses, his hand already on the door of the Wild Pony.

  
Michael always forgets the stupid blind hope; the pathetic _maybe maybe maybe_ that hammers in his chest as Alex almost turns back, sighs and then tiredly says: “go home Guerin.”

  
Normally that would be his cue. Normally they cut each other ragged and bloody and raw and then drag their bodies far away to nurse their wounds; neither one to break from tradition.

  
Normally the large neon sign above the door doesn’t come loose in a rain of sparks.

  
The “no!” never really passes his lips, his hand outstretched, reaching for something - _anything_ \- as Alex stumbles backwards, arm in front of his face, too slow.

  
The sign freezes mid-air. Alex, trained and smart, doesn’t. He’s out from under it in a matter of seconds, dodging a rogue electrical wire and rolling onto his knees safely away from any immediate danger.

  
There’s a beat where the sign still doesn’t move, where Michael’s hand is still outstretched, every inch of his body screaming. There’s a beat where Alex turns to him - panting and scared and _alive_ \- and catches his eye.

  
The sign hits the ground in an explosion of smoke and fire.

  
A ringing silence— then an uproar of screams and cries and people; there is running and chaos and lights and Alex is still staring at Michael and Michael is still staring back.

*

Alex has burn wounds all over his arm. They are severe enough to require proper dressing, to make Kyle insist on running some more tests but ultimately they are nothing too serious. Nothing compared to what could’ve happened.

  
Although patience has never been Michaels strong suit, he waits anyway. He drinks terrible hospital coffee, walks up and down the corridors and when Liz and Maria show up he sits in his car idly playing with his radio dial.

  
He should call Max (probably) or Isobel (definitely) and come up with a plan, a story, a lie. He should be halfway out of the state by now, far from any type of Manes. Instead he just sits and waits as night turns into morning, time passing in irregular bursts.

  
When Alex finds Michael he’s bandaged and alone. There is no hesitation as he joins Michael in the car, no comment when Michael starts the ignition and pulls out of the parking lot.

  
“Does it hurt?” Michael asks finally, his voice hoarse after the long quiet, eyes flickering between the road and Alex’ arm.

  
“It’s fine,” Alex says and Michael doesn’t know what that means because Alex isn’t looking at him. He hasn’t looked his way once since getting into the car and it’s making every nerve in Michael’s body crawl and knot and misbehave.

  
Alex is out of the car before Michael cuts the engine. There is a moment where he debates driving away, or simply not moving at all, but Alex is already halfway up the steps to the cabin and the truth is - has always been - that Michael will follow until Alex dismisses him.

  
Alex leaves the door open after him which seems like a good sign, even when Michael isn’t sure he’s ever been more afraid to walk into a building.

  
There is pain on Alex’ face as he settles himself on the sofa and Michael sits down on one of the chairs. Michael wants to ask if it’s his arm or his leg or something else entirely but the silence is so heavy now that he doesn’t dare to break it.

  
“You saved my life,” Alex says and then finally, _finally_ looks at him. His gaze is steady, determined and Michael feels like he might cry under the weight of it all.

  
He swallows thickly but doesn’t respond.

  
“I would have - should have died last night,” something tugs at the corner of Alex’ lips, a grimace or a smile Michael isn’t sure. “And then you saved my life.” It’s a statement, it’s fact, the question lingering between them isn’t about how true it might be.

  
“How?”

Michael should’ve called Isobel.

  
Instead he starts talking and he doesn’t stop.

  
He talks about the crash, about Max and Isobel, about the discovery of their powers and the fear of getting discovered. He talks about Alex’ father and Grant Green and Liz Ortecho. He’s so tired, so absolutely exhausted and somehow stopping seems like a bigger effort than continuing. So he talks about everything, he talks about all the things he shouldn’t talk about.

  
Alex doesn’t say anything. He raises his eyebrows a few times but other than that he just sits and listens, his eyes never leaving Michael. When Michael runs out of words they just sit there for a moment. Alex’ face unreadable as an empty numbness spreads through Michael’s body.

  
Eventually Alex stands up and leaves the room.

  
Michael doesn’t move. He wonders who Alex will call; his father or the police or maybe the military. There is a chance - albeit a small chance - that Alex might reach out to Liz first. They are friends after all, stuck in the same boat. It might give Michael enough time to do damage control and he definitely should be doing damage control and not just sitting there waiting to be damned.

  
Alex returns to the room within moments, not long enough to have contacted anyone. That means there is still time - at the very least to warn Max and Isobel - if Michael acts now. Fight or flight, it’s what he owes them; fight or flight, it must still be there in him somewhere.

  
“I’m—” he starts, standing up as he tries to collect himself.

  
Alex takes a step into the room and Michael’s stomach drops.

  
There, in Alex’ hands, is a glowing piece of alien technology.

  
It doesn’t make sense. It’s a piece of alien technology from Michael’s ship and Alex shouldn’t have it. It’s a piece of alien technology from Michael’s ship and Michael has never seen it before. It’s a piece of alien technology from Michael’s ship and Alex is holding it as if he knows exactly how valuable it is.

  
Something heavy lodges itself in Michael’s throat as his eyes find Alex’. There is a soft understanding there as Alex takes another step towards him, takes a deep breath and then smiles as he extends his arm in offering.

  
Michael can’t help but smile back as tears stream down his face.

  
Maybe this is how they’ll live: Alex on one side, Michael on the other and less and less between them.


End file.
